


This Side Of The River

by thnderchld



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Bittersweet, Friends to Lovers, M/M, eventual smut WAY in the future we dont do nasty stuff here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 10:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18140759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thnderchld/pseuds/thnderchld
Summary: Fountain Town: Green pastures, blue skies, Victorian townhouses and rural hospitality dotting every block. It is here that Zuko spends his Summers in the home of his uncle. It is also here that Zuko meets the mysterious Jet, an orphan with a temper and an obsession with trainspotting.At the age of 12, Zuko is excited for another Summer of sunburnt necks and blistered feet. But when a lie is discovered, it threatens to tear away the only things Zuko holds dear.





	This Side Of The River

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2016, when I was but a babe of 15. I have decided that maybe, publishing it would be the thing that would get me to finish it. 
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this to my old friends johnny and yves, wherever they may be. I'd also like to dedicate this to my friend Eliza, to Simon and to the newest member of the jetko community, Leo @sword-babies.

**Prologue**

1998, 8 years old

Zuko stared out the window of the red chevy, his mouth twisted in a scowl. There was no sister, at least. She always kicked the back of his chair until he cussed, and then _he_ would get in trouble, which was just plain unfair. Even though he’d heard Azula say far worse things, all the time. He’d gone through her diary and the pages had towered with them, a skyscraper ‘FUCK’ next to a cursive ‘ _cunt_ ’.

His sister had always been weird, though, drawing weird things in her book; tiny monsters crouching in the corners of her notebooks, the ones that their dad got her. Her favourite was a red one, with black birds flying on the cover. The first five pages were crayoned red.

Now he was alone, normal Zuko and his normal mother, but it was temporary- the scenery of early summer dashed past in shades of fresh, unyielding green, selfish green, and blue that wanted to swallow you up. They had just passed the first sign to Fountain Town and his mood was already plummeting. Soon he would have to say goodbye to his mother, his only friend. Not even the baby animals could cheer him up.

His mother’s Tchaikovsky played in the background of his mind, soaring and dipping like birds in the sky. For some bizarre reason she sang to it, pretending that the instruments were syllables. Her voice was so pretty, though, at least in Zuko’s ears. She still sang him to sleep sometimes.

“Mom?” Zuko asked, his voice stuck in a pitiful whine, “Why can’t I just go to the beach house? It’s gonna be _boring_.”

Ursa smiled like she was laughing at him, but it wasn’t mean. She hummed a little before speaking. “Well, there’d be no one there. This is where your cousin grew up, remember? You’ll get to see Lu Ten!”

That was true. This had been the town where Uncle had raised his son on his own, from a measly little three year old to a pimply teen to a muscular heartthrob. The girls of Fountain Town lined up in the hundreds (of the 200 residents) to go places with him. He never told Zuko what place they went.

Zuko frowned and turned to look at his mother, kicking his tiny light up shoes. Ursa looked at him and her smile softened, like she was going to cry. She cried a lot, recently, but it was because she was happy. He had heard her in the bedroom, and she’d been laughing; the divorce papers crinkling as they fell to the floor, her laughs bordering on madness.

“You never know,” Ursa said, “you might make a friend. A _best_ friend, even.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. With a sheep, maybe. He had been at school for years, and the closest thing had been the ones that his sister had acquired; nice little girls with easily influenced personalities. But that didn’t count, not at all. At lunch he sat at a table on his own, with rings of chocolate milk sticking to his arms.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ursa leaned across and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. They were slightly darker, painted a soft pink, with fingers that were rough from her musical youth.

“It’s okay to not be good at making friends, Zuko. They will come, like they came to me. Even if it takes a while, okay? It doesn’t always have to be on you.”

Zuko nodded. He knew that it wasn’t his fault, but it still stung.

“Besides, Zuko, it’s only six weeks. We’ll be reunited in no time, okay?”

He nodded again, but he was done talking. He looked out the window and saw a slender train streaking across the horizon, painted bright red, the windows clear with the silhouettes of dark faces. Dozens of lives, unseen.

Before he knew it, a large sign loomed; what would have once been a forest green but was now less than coral. The words _WELCOME TO FOUNTAIN TOWN_ sloped in elaborate cream cursive, with a basic fountain painted underneath.

The town soon appeared, first as the gas station, then a supermarket. Zuko knew that Lu Ten worked on the outskirts, so he kept his stare steady in case it would happen upon his cousin.

The resident houses rolled past and Zuko became aware of the car rolling to a stop. They had slowed down in front of a double storied weatherboard, a soft blue colour. The garden was tended but not themed; nothing like his father’s overdone palm trees, the colour of flame.

The door opened and his uncle stepped out, a muscular man with a deep black beard that had not greyed in his old age. His form was well kempt from his army years, but there was a softness in his eyes. Especially when he looked at Ursa. He opened the door and she stepped out, smiling in that special way she did when she was happy for real.

He was the only relative who Zuko actually _liked_ , apart from Lu Ten. So Ursa liked him too.

“Ursa, my dear,” his voice was happy. “And my dear nephew!”

“Iroh,” Ursa replied, her voice affectionate. “Where’s _my_ nephew?”

“He’s at work, I’m afraid. But he’ll be back.”

Zuko finally got out of the car. The heels of his red shoes flashed green when he walked up to his uncle, not fighting the slight pout. His mother rested a hand at the base of his neck, ushering him forward. He leaned into her touch, wanting to be closer to her. His mother squeezed his shoulder and smiled. “Hey, sweetheart, do you want to go check out the house? I’ve just got to talk about some grown up stuff with Iroh, okay?”

He didn’t bother to fight it, just stepped away from his mother and made his way up through the garden to where the house stood. He opened the door and immediately saw the photographs on the wall, and the words ‘WELCOME ZUKO’ written in bubble writing. Beneath it sat a picture of Zuko and his family; back when his hair had been long. On his lap sat his sister, cuter then. Less divided. Back when she liked him.

He stepped away and made his way up the stairs that creaked and groaned beneath him. The house was old, and it wept when the wind pressed against it. Zuko got to the top floor and made his way to Lu Ten’s old bedroom. A new name was written on the door in blocks, his name. He sighed and opened it to find a quaint double bed with airplanes soaring across the blanket; a sky of cornflower blue.

He turned and made his way over to the window, where a large tree brushed the window. He was looking at it when he noticed the Movement, in the corner of the garden.

The back yard was 3 acres, at most, and the grass stretched down across the earth. It dashed across the earth until it was interrupted by the river, a full river that went right past Fountain Town.

But that wasn’t important. What _was_ important was the form of a person sitting on the _other side_ of the stream, their feet in the water. And yes, he was young, and the only backyards he knew stretched on for miles, had themed gardens and palm trees around pools. Not his strange, eccentric uncle. This was what led Zuko to fear, to the assumption of _trespasser._

__

But while afraid, he also had his shame. The one given by his father, by his faults. Azula wouldn’t be afraid, Zuko knew. Azula would be blunt, maybe even cruel, but she wouldn’t just let a trespasser _stand_ there. So Zuko steeled himself and walked out the door and down the steps. He walked out the back and into the garden. What he found when he made his way towards the stream was that the person was neither as large or as fearsome as he had first thought (although that didn’t stop his heart from racing).

He stopped at the bank, and the other person finally looked up. They looked up, and Zuko realised they were no older than himself. A boy, with curly dark hair that tumbled into his eyes, soft brown skin, an orange T-shirt.

“Hey!” Zuko squeaked, and the boy tipped his head to the side. “Why are you trespassing in my uncle’s house?”

The boy narrowed his eyes and glanced down at the river. “I’m not?” he asked, his voice high in confusion. Zuko tried to copy his father’s scowl, the scary one, but the boy didn’t change at all. The only thing was the slight smile that the boy tried to hide. “This isn’t your uncle’s part, see? That’s your side, and this is mine!”

He stepped forward, and Zuko noticed that the boy was barefoot. Oh, if his _father_ were here.

Zuko looked at the size of land and gave up on comprehending the laws of space and property. All he did was slip his shoes off and sit down with a huff. But this was his own form of rebellion. Zuko thought of his father, of his sister’s admirable cleanliness, and slid his feet through the mud into the water, where the river pushed clouds of murk into the water.

“Now you’re in no man’s land,” the boy said, but Zuko didn’t reply. He just stared at the water, at the water rushing over his feet, between his toes. Goosebumps rose on his legs.

When he looked up again the boy was still quiet, but he wasn’t looking at Zuko anymore. He was looking at the water too, but with twice the concentration. He was crouched curiously, his hand braced above the water, fingers outstretched. He looked like one of the animals that Zuko saw on Animal Planet. A lion, maybe, with its paws stretched out.

“What are you doing?” Zuko asked, frowning.

The boy didn’t respond, but the smile widened on his face. And then, with a crash, his hand broke the surface of the water and pulled out a squirming fish. Zuko squeaked in surprise, watching the cold creature flick its tail to no avail as the boy’s fist squeezed it. He stared at the thing, holding it just over the brook.

It writhed for life, its mouth parted in the ghastly scowl that fish always have. Then he dropped it again and it escaped beneath the surface of the stream; its silver scales flashing as it passed.

Zuko glanced up. “Why did you let it go?”

“Because it was tiny. No meal in it so no point in killing it.”

“Who are you, anyway?” Zuko finally reached the point of courtesy. The boy grinned and held out a hand. Zuko didn’t take it.

“My name’s Jet! I’m an orphan.” At that Zuko blinked. He’d read about orphans before, he’d seen plenty of them in the movies, but he’d never seen one in person before. In them, the orphans were often scrawny and cheeky and happy with their lot in life, or desperately miserable. Jet seemed to be the former. A walking stereotype.

“I’m Zuko.”

Jet grinned. To Zuko he looked like Peter Pan, a parentless rebel, with an army of boys who lived in trees and animal skins. “I like you,” Jet announced, and he kicked a wave of water across the river.

It just so happened that the water hit Zuko in the face, and it just so happened that the water dripped down and soaked into his good shirt; white with a grey bloom in the centre. He stared, stunned for a moment, before grabbing a fistful of mud and flinging it at the other boy.

With a yell of indignation Jet surged into the river, and Zuko had only a moment in which to grab Jet’s collar and slam his back into the bank, so Jet was just beneath the water. His eyes were closed, and bubbles flowed from his nose. Zuko felt the water soak into his skin, freezing from the mountains . He squirmed, kicking out with his feet, until Zuko finally pulled him out, crossing his arms. “Trespassing is illegal!”

Jet coughed on water and paused. Then he jumped up and bounded past Zuko, towards the house. Before he could even think, Zuko was on his own feet, dashing after the boy, his hand held out. Jet was fast, but his clothes were heavy, and Zuko grabbed a fistful of shirt. Soaked as he was, Jet grinned and yanked off his shirt before dashing again, climbing the side fence and falling in a heap at Ursa’s feet.

Zuko stood behind him, panting with exertion, his face pink with shame.

Ursa was silent for a moment, a hand pressed to her open mouth. “Zuko, your _clothes_!” He glanced down and his blush deepened, turned his skin a bright, bright red.

“I caught a trespasser,” Zuko mumbled and Jet flashed the adults a wide grin.

“Good afternoon!”

Ursa pulled Zuko close to her side. He tried to squirm against her grip, but she was strong. Jet got to his feet, and a large graze took up his elbow. It looked gruesome, but he was already covered with scrapes and scars. This was nothing. He bowed before Uncle.

“Good afternoon, Mister Iroh!”

Zuko blinked and looked between the two, the orphan and the former mayor of New York City. One with millions of dollars under his belt, and one with none. And there was even a spark of affection in the nod that Uncle gave! “Hello, Mister Jet.”

“How do you know Jet?”

Iroh laughed a little, but it was nice. “You don’t live in Fountain Town and _not_ know Jet.” He reached out and even ruffled the boy’s hair a little bit. Zuko gaped as he watched. “My goodness, boy, you’re freezing!”

Zuko paled a little, but the boy just shrugged. “I just went for a lil swim, is all. Don’tcha worry!” Then he turned to Zuko’s mother and bowed. “Hello, ma’am! I’m Jet.”

Ursa covered a smile. “You can call me Ursa. I’m glad to see Zuko making friends.”

Zuko spluttered. _Friend._ That was not exactly a word that was to be associated with him- he didn’t even know what friend meant. He’d seen the friends in TV shows. On TV, friends were ragtag armies, bitching teens in love, fragile ropes of survival tethered by enmity, and he never had any of that. He never got a single drop, and he didn’t know if that was better or not.

“Zuko,” Iroh interrupted his angst spiral, “Please can you take Jet inside and get him bandaged up? The first aid kit is in your bathroom.”

Zuko nodded and took Jet by the hand. He led him through the doorway, past the longhaired photo, up the stairs and into the bathroom.

As Zuko searched for the first aid kit, Jet sat on the bathroom floor, perfectly content to watch. If you asked Zuko, a bandage was useless on this one. He’d probably pull it off before it could do anything. One got the impression that Jet liked his scratches, that he was one of those boys who viewed scars as evidence of a life well lived.

“Why did you have such long hair in that photo?” Jet asked, still looking at the fish. Zuko groaned at the oncoming interview.

“I’m transgender. People thought I was a girl when I was born, but then I grew up and I realised they got it wrong.”

Jet pursed his lips and nodded. “I know people like that.” He crossed his legs and turned to look out the window. Zuko sighed in relief. His mother was the only one to have done _research_ , which she had then given to Iroh. They, plus Lu Ten, were the only people who weren’t ashamed of him.

Zuko finally found a bandage and turned to the other boy. He noted the bump in Jet’s nose, the strange arch in his eyebrows, the way he only breathed through his mouth. The rise and fall of his chest, like waves.

After Jet was bandaged up, the two of them lazed on Zuko’s bed. Or, Zuko lazed. Jet was never lacking in energy. When he did nothing, he was purposely doing nothing. Everything was a form of artful resistance, from the bite in his laugh to the raise of an eyebrow.

Jet giggled suddenly. “You and I,” he said, “We make a good team.”  
  
“Oh,” Zuko said.

 

After a few minutes, Jet was back on his feet and pulling Zuko barefoot through the streets of Fountain Town. Zuko made no complaint, but the gravel drove into the soles of his feet, even as Jet’s feet felt nothing from years of toughening. Did he _own_ shoes? He had heard of orphans that didn’t.

Jet’s hand was wrapped around Zuko’s wrist, the fingers resting against the blue veins that bulged in the heat; proof of his Royal Blood (that’s what his father said), proof that every drop was an extra shame.

Jet pulled him like that past the old fountain, past the shops of smiling women, past the houses with their happy families, and out to the outskirts. They were going back the way Zuko had come.

Jet finally stopped by a store with _George’s Car Service!_ painted above the garage. Out the front stood his cousin, his back against a fence with a cigarette between his lips.

He grinned when he saw Zuko and dropped his cigarette to the ground, where he crushed it into the asphalt. Zuko skipped over, the hot ground suddenly gone, not caring to wound him anymore. Not in the presence of his cousin.

“Hey there, Zukes!” Lu Ten grinned, his voice shadowed with laughter. “Came to see me early, I see!” He glanced at Jet and chuckled. “I see you’ve already met the town terror?”

Zuko noticed Jet rolling his eyes, but he made no move to defend himself. Besides, there wasn’t much point. “He wanted to see you, and the grown ups were boring.”

Zuko frowned. He had never mentioned his cousin. He didn’t even know this kid!

“That’s sweet of him.” Lu Ten grinned. “Don’t mess my little cousin up, m’kay?”

Jet pouted. “Lu Ten, you know me! I don’t mess _no one_ up. I do the opposite of messing up! I’m gonna take him to see the Freedom Fighters now and I looked after them _perfectly_ well.”

Zuko cleared his throat. “Can I say hello to my cousin first? Hi, Lu Ten!” A grin spread on his face and he felt it in his cheeks, so wide he showed teeth. He stepped forward and wrapped Lu Ten in a hug. The older boy smelled of cigarettes and musk, but Zuko didn’t mind.

Lu Ten chuckled. “Hi, Zuko. It’s good to have you back.” Something warm glowed in Zuko’s chest like a friendly cigarette butt. Lu Ten ruffled the top of Zuko’s hair, sending it slipping into his face. But, of course, Zuko didn’t care.

And then Lu Ten pulled back, his smile friendly. “You know, you should go with Jet before it gets dark. It’ll be fine!”

Jet bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, Zukes! They’ll love you!”

Zuko glanced back at him, a sneaky smile on his mouth. “Fine. But only if I get my shoes back.”

And so, light up shoes returned, the two boys continued their voyage through Fountain Town even though Zuko’s feet ached and Jet’s bandage had long since fallen off. Zuko walked behind him always, as Jet would always dart ahead to the junction and stop, waiting. He loved waiting.

But eventually the boys made it to the house on the hill. It was a Victorian home, both large and quaint, its walls a deep crimson that reminded Zuko of his father’s home. The wrong home, that Zuko didn’t live in anymore. The one that had rejected him long before he knew who he was.

The place wasn’t as elegant, however. The path was littered with overgrown red flowers that danced in the wind. The burgundy shutters were chipped and a deep scent of dissatisfaction loomed in the air, pumped with a dollop of sloth.

They didn’t even go inside the house; they didn’t need to. There were no gates or fences, just the darkness of the trees that stood like a line of partisans on the hill, their faces bared for execution. Jet skipped as he walked, humming a tune Zuko didn’t recognise.

Finally he stood before the edge of the woods, as the sky started to tinge a warm creamy colour. Zuko watched as the boy lifted two fingers to his mouth and whistled. It wasn’t loud, but it was slightly melodic, like a bird.

And then like ghosts the children appeared, Jet’s lost children, the partisans’ ghosts. They appeared in different patterns of disarray, their shirts torn and their grins wild. “Jet!” one of them yelled.

One of them appeared before Zuko seemingly out of nowhere; a true ragamuffin with hair in every which direction. They could only be about seven, but they stared at Zuko with a learned caution. “Who are you?” they asked. Red marks streaked across their cheeks.

“This is Zuko,” Jet announced, placing a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “And Zuko, this is my sister, Smellerbee. And the rest of us? These are the Freedom Fighters.”

“How many times did you watch Peter Pan as a kid?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Zuko couldn’t fight a small smile. Peter Pan had been a notable figure of his own childhood, and there was a small allure to the idea of being part of this boy’s group of ragtags, raging against age, living free forever.

The next thing they did was go to the railway. The station rested at the edge of Fountain Town, just behind the general store. It was a quiet haunt, as the train from the city rarely stopped. No one ever got off the train to Fountain Town, as one had press a button to stop, and no one left Fountain Town anyway. To the rest of the world Fountain Town existed only as a flash of colour, a large dome, and then gone; all those pictures bleeding into the world.

The two made their way down the train tracks, Jet’s ear fine tuned and Zuko’s even moreso, accentuated by plain fear. His tiny heart thundered inside his chest as they strode up the path. By this point the sun streaked the sky red, but for the first time in his life he didn’t want to go home.

He finally calmed down when Jet took his hand, wrapping it in those rough, warm fingers. “It’s okay,” Jet said, and his voice was gentler now. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Zuko blinked and almost pulled his hand away. “But people always hurt each other on TV. It’s always about using each other to survive and then stabbing each other in the back.”

“That’s not how friends really work. The point of friendship is having each other’s back. It’s about…not forgetting each other, even after you’ve gone. Even if you don’t think about them, you still wonder about each other sometimes. And yeah, humans use each other to survive in general- that’s the one part TV got right. But that’s not a bad thing, as long as you aren’t hurting nobody.”

Zuko nodded, even though he still barely understood. But he recognised one part of it. _Having each others’ backs_. Did that mean he and Jet were friends? Did Jet see them that way?

He finally led Zuko off the track and up a large hill. It was hard, but Jet held his hand the whole way, until they reached the top. Jet grinned as he let go and turned to face the rail line. He looked like a hero. “This is Mount Everest. The real one.”

Zuko shook his head and sat down awkwardly. “I watch Animal Planet. Mount Everest has snow.”

“Not this one,” Jet said, and sat down next to Zuko. He stopped talking then, staring down at the tracks with a deep set concentration. The levity was still there, but now he was focused, his dark eyes narrowed as he searched. For what, Zuko didn’t know. “You’re a strange one, Zukes,” he whispered.

“Don’t call me that,” Zuko said, scrunching up his nose. “Only people who love me say that. Except for my mum. She calls me Zuko just the same as everyone else.”

Jet hummed and didn’t speak again, leaning forward with a deadly intent, a concentration that Zuko didn’t think he’d ever have. It looked like his very life depended on what happened next.

Then there came the rattling; a great sound that shook the very foundations of the hill, that made Zuko’s very bones tremble inside his skin. But not Jet. Jet never flinched.

The express train came rumbling towards the village, its lights blaring bright yellow. Zuko couldn’t see anything of the people inside, but Jet leaned forward anyway, seeking through the window as if he knew someone. Staring into all those unseen lives.

It rattled past, and Jet deflated slightly. But all he did was flop back into the earth.

There was noise beside them, and Zuko looked up. It was Smellerbee, panting with exertion. Her face was flushed pink, and the red paint was little more than paths dripping down her cheeks. She grinned. “Iroh sent me. He said it’s dinner time and you gotta go home.”

A moment of disappointment ticked inside Zuko’s body but he stood up anyway. He turned and Jet was looking up at him, a strange smile on his lips; a softer one that Zuko couldn’t imagine being common. “Goodnight, Zuko,” he whispered. And with that he looked away again, his ears once again battling for the sound of wheels on a railway. He wouldn’t hear Zuko if he tried to talk again.

So Zuko left for the night, walked besides Smellerbee as she struggled to get her breath. She glanced at Zuko and he glanced back. She smiled a little, and Zuko wondered if she Had His Back. “Jet really likes you,” she said, “Are you in love with him? He likes people who are.”

Zuko blushed and shook his head.

“You will.” She looked ahead. “Anyway, he took you to Mount Everest! He only took me there last month and he’s known me for _three years_.”

Zuko felt his embarrassment deepen, but he spoke anyway. “What does he do there? Why does he… stare at the trains?”

Smellerbee sucked in a breath. It whistled as it entered her lungs. “He does it because he thinks his mom will come back for him. That she’ll step off that train and take him home.” She glanced around, as if the trees were spies. “That’s why he likes waiting so much. Because he likes bein’ good at stuff.”

“Isn’t she dead?”

“Nah. She dropped him off at the station when he was six and she said she’d come back one day. But she won’t. He won’t listen to reason, though, not _that guy._ ”

Zuko paused, because the feeling of horror, of sadness was suddenly there in a wave of fog and cigarette smoke. He turned and looked back to the hill, wondering which type of death was worse. His gaze crept up along the slope, now too dark to matter, but he didn’t see Jet. Still, he knew he was there. Still, he felt Jet looking back, through the dark curtain.

It was getting late.

Jet wouldn’t sleep for another 4 hours.


End file.
